If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. You might also be interested in my sex podcast, Bedroom Radio. Thanks for visiting!

So much has been said these past two weeks but I still feel like it isn’t for the rest of the world. I can’t articulate myself in a way that makes it as big as it is so I keep it to myself and I privately swoon to a few friends and still feel like I miss the mark. There are tears of pain and joy and I’m so grateful for everything I’m feeling. Another playlist:

We met for drinks a few months ago and then schedules got tight and new jobs were started and we lost touch. Carmine found me again a few weeks ago, telling me that he wanted to see me.

So we met for drinks and talked about school and teaching and the law. We also talked about lubes and blogging and the joys of rope and electro-sex. I’m attracted to Carmine but the conversation wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t flirtatious, it just was.

He asked me back to his place so I texted Jay to make sure it was alright. It was. I knew that something might happen but I wasn’t expecting it. Carmine is sweet and self-effacing. He has a slight Boston accent that makes my pussy twinge when he says words like “car”. I couldn’t, for the life of me see him making the first move.

He did. Standing in his living room he grabs me and kisses me. He leads me to the bedroom and begins taking off my clothes. We tumbled around on the bed for awhile kissing and groping. At one point he paused, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. I posed myself so that I would look effortlessly sexy when he came back in the room. On my stomach, legs bent and crossed at the ankles with feet in the air. He came back in the room and slid on top of me, caressing my back with his body and kissing the top of my head. I felt his cock pressing against my ass and I wiggled a bit as I looked over my shoulder at him.

“You have a baseball bat next to your bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you afraid of intruders?”

“No, it helps me think.”

I look at him quizzically.

“It is a guy thing,” he explains, “it is phallic.”

I smirk and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is grinding against me and kissing my shoulders. He asks me what I want and I shoot the question back at him. So, he tells me he wants to fuck me and spanks my ass. Too softly.

I tell him I want to fuck him too but he’s going to have to hit harder. He does.

So we fuck.

Yeah, I know, I always skip that part. Here, let me give you some highlights. He slides into me and his cock is thick and hard and I squeeze him. His eyes widen a bit and so do mine. He pins my hands beside my head. He squeezes my wrists hard and it hurts and I really love it. I scream, a lot. Obscenities, sacrilegious prayers, and incomprehensible things. Throughout it all, Carmine retains a placid and contemplative look on his face. I smile and he smiles back but he is already smiling. I wonder if there is some joke that I am missing. And as his cock slams me, sometimes too hard and too deep. So aggressively that I have to remind him that my cervix is there, he still smiles. I wonder if this has something to do with the baseball bat.

So, we finish and I bite my lip and steal a quick glance at him. I giggle a bit. I’m not being myself so much as an approximation of myself. It is okay, he might know this or it might be too complex for the moment or he might not even care. I ask him to explain the baseball bat again. He picks it up and shows me. He is laying on his back next to a puddle of ejaculate with a baseball bat in his hands and my naked body slung partially over his. He looks a bit like he owns the world. He holds the bat like he is expecting a pitch and moves it back and forth a bit. I duck and giggle. He explains that he’s never even played baseball on a team and he isn’t that big of a fan. It just works. He tousles my hair and asks if I want a cigarette.

I tell him that I’ve never had a cigarette after sex before. Maybe it is too much of a cliche. He gives me an incredulous look. Law students are apt to smoking and Carmine knows that when I’m having a drink, I’m prone to a cigarette or two. I tell him that I’ve probably fucked smokers before but the cigarette never came up. He tells me it can’t be beat.

We slide back into our clothes and walk out on the porch and talk about evolutionary biology and have a smoke. He isn’t lying, it is a really good cigarette. The night is hot and exceedingly Southern he tells me that he hopes that now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way, we can get more adventurous next time.

Oh, thats right I left out some details. I met Carmine because he likes cross dressing and taking it in the ass from girls with strap-ons. He is also perfectly capable of spanking me and pinning me to the bed while he fucks me hard. Interesting how people and their sexualities aren’t just one thing. My life and relationships would be much too boring if that were true.

The South is my adopted home but I don’t always get along with Southerners. Most of my friends here are other Northern transplants, but I know my fair share of people born and bred in the dirty dirty. Ian is one of those people. He has a mild twang in his voice, he is exceedingly polite, and he is a tall drink of water. He is also bisexual, has a very nice cock, and is one kinky bastard.

Jay and I have been fooling around with Ian lately and he has me thinking about how purely joyful and fun sex can be. See, Ian is hilarious, he likes to laugh and he likes to make his partners laugh and the fact that he may be fucking someone is immaterial to him deciding whether or not to tell a joke. In fact, he pointed out that my pussy gets extra tight when I laugh, this all might be very intentional!

The sex we have been having with Ian isn’t sensual, poetic sex. It also isn’t rough, aggressive sex. In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex. But I love laughing in bed, it is the most natural thing in the world for me. (Listeners of Bedroom Radio know that I giggle after most orgasms.) Something that falls by the wayside in erotica is just how hilarious sex is. Just by itself, inherently, it is prone to serious laughs. You have naked people, genitals, bodily fluids, and tricky maneuvering. When God is in the mood for some slapstick comedy, he peers down on everyone fucking. And smiles.

In many ways, Ian is the perfect third for Jay and I. He matches our silly and playful attitudes. I don’t have to affect some fort of sex kitten persona with him. I get to sarcastic, bold, and forthright. I ask for what I want unabashedly with no coy or seductive pretenses.

Last night when Jay filled his hand with lube and spilled most of it on the bed, we all laughed. When Ian pointed out that it looks like snot, we laugh some more. When I slip and nearly hit the floor stepping over the spot where Jay spilled the lube, we all completely lost it. And it is okay. Nothing is missing. The genitals all remain and the adventurous spirit keeps hold. I’ve never believed in the idea that a “moment” can be lost but even if that is true, a moment given over to laughter with friends hardly feels like a sacrifice.

The sweating and grunting? The screaming and whimpering? The pleasure that takes us over? They are important too, and they have their own moments. But they aren’t what make this sexy and fun - I don’t know if they are even the goal.

[Curious about that picture at the top? Well this is what happens when I hand Jay a marker and tell him that he can write on me. We later discovered that I left a stamped impression of fireworks on the bed sheets. What can I say, it was the 4th of July.]

“You’re going to write an angry blog entry about this, aren’t you? Or a Twitter?”

“No, I don’t do that.”

“I feel really bad.”

I can’t see his eyes because he is wearing mirrored sunglasses. I feel exposed. Realizing that impending tears are stinging at my eyes, I wish I had a pair of my own.

“It’s fine, really.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

So, I get in my car and drive away while he continues with the very important things he has to get done that day. His excuses aren’t even excuses, they are totally reasonable. Jude lost his job and has been frantically applying for new ones, he has a lot of places to still try. I’ve made him feel like shit because he can only meet me for a few hours and have a drink.

Still, the tears are starting to sting and as I pull out of the parking lot, I shake my head. I’ve tried to make sure that our dialog is something like a movie. Dramatic, dry, witty. This is the moment where he is supposed to call me and tell me to come back. He’ll grab me as I step out of the car and pin me against the door and kiss me.

But I keep driving.

I get stuck in traffic and send what I am pretending is a playful text message.

“Now that I’m in this traffic, I am mad at you.”

He calls a few moments later and tells me that the place I suggested was hiring. I hold my breath. He launches into more apologies. I feel the tears stinging again, and my gum gets slimy as my mouth starts producing extra saliva. I tell him I need to concentrate on driving and get off the phone.

I stop for gas and as I’m pumping I send another message.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“OMG I am such a retard. I had so much on my mind I didn’t even think about it.”

It occurs to me that kissing people isn’t an item on the to-do list and usually, when I don’t think about kissing someone it is because I really don’t want to kiss them. I volley back the classic pained martyr response:

“It isn’t important.”

“Yes it is, I’m a jackass.”

“Not being attracted to me doesn’t make you a jackass.”

Passive aggressive with a side of self-deprecation. This is the man that regularly tells me that he wants to rape me and now I’m taking jabs at him because I haven’t been kissed. I feel like a child and a fool.

He replies, “No, I just wasn’t in a remotely romantic or sexual mood. This is how I get when I’m depressed.”

I know what he is saying. He has been in this emotional state for weeks. I realize that I’m being the most shitty and unsupportive friend to him right now. I also feel embarrassed and conflicted. I am still holding out for the movie ending but gas isn’t 4 dollars a gallon in romantic comedies.

Does my rational mind know that Jude does want me and today’s just a bad day? Sure.

Does my rational mind win out over the feelings of the girl that feels like she is back in high school - fat, rejected, foolish? No. I am still that girl.

So, I send one last passive aggressive message: “Okay. Feel better. Bye.”

Then I turn up the 80s radio, and let the tears finally come.

Last night Jude and I re-hashed a conversation about a fear of mine and this morning I read a post on Polyamorously Perverse by Tom Paine that speaks to that fear. He recently committed the mortal sin (and I did too, in his comments section) of calling another sex blogger out on something inappropriate they were doing. The details of that other blogger’s life and work aren’t the point (it is just a classic story about a good writer recounting being a bad person - plenty have made a mint on it and hopefully she will too.) Tom Paine describes some important facets of poly (or any open relationship) that seem like they should be obvious but they aren’t.

The people that are being honest* with their partners and doing things correctly always stand at risk. Especially when they play with people that are single but inherently monogamous. This accounts for my conversation with Jude. I’ve told him my fear that what I have with him or might have with him has a built-in expiration date until he can find a girlfriend that he commits to. Now, there are a variety of reasons that I could never be that woman in his life (the fact that I am already in a committed relationship might not even top the list) but it leads to some uncomfortable twinges when we talk about our lives. He feels absolutely no jealousy towards Jay but does feel a bit towards the other men I speak to. And when he tells me about other women, my sense of urgency to get to him and get to be with him is increased.

Now, most of you might be thinking, “Jesus, Ellie, you have Jay and you have these other people, you are so lucky, stop complaining!” I can’t say that I even have an answer to that sentiment other than the gut feeling that I both know how lucky I am and still want to honor the challenges that our little household faces on a daily basis.

So, Tom’s thoughts on the trepidation he and C. experience about their third partner leaving them for someone monogamous is a real fear in my life right now. One that could thwart something lovely for me before it even really starts. And also a fear that has me feeling like a bad and selfish person who would begrudge a friend finding happiness. See the rub there?

Ultimately, though, this is all about honesty. I don’t think that a sex blogger has an obligation to be honest to anyone other than their romantic partners. So when I see someone that is being honest with everyone *but* their romantic partners, it rubs me the wrong way. Here is the comment I left for Tom:

Confessional writing about these sorts of “sins” isn’t productive if everyone pats you on the back and says you are a princess. In fact, it only becomes enabling. So many of us are writing sex blogs to seek the approval of other people (of course it is fashionable to say “I write this only for myself” as if that explains why one would host and promote it on the internet.) I don’t think there is anything wrong with getting that validation but one can’t admit wrong-doing without being spanked for it a bit. If you go through your life that way, you will be convinced that your actions are somehow okay.

I got blasted/warned/attacked on this blog when Jay and I started seeing each other. Even though I was being COMPLETELY honest with C (my C, not Tom’s). I didn’t feel it was fair but I also knew that my experimenting was reminding people of a lot of bad memories and feelings. While this blog isn’t exactly a public space (it is mine), I have no reason to shut out the (often helpful) perspectives of others. Even if they don’t speak to me, they likely speak to someone.

*Full disclosure: Many of my clients are married or in relationships. I have deeply complex and conflicted feelings about my place in their lives. However, one thing I will say is that this fact is why many of them would never be lovers and will always be clients. No matter how much they turn me on.

Feministe is having a (very heteronormative) discussion about what it means to be a feminist boyfriend. Now, I’m not saying that there isn’t some useful work being done in the comments there - the most important suggestions seem to be about recognizing privilege, deferring, and standing up for feminism to other guys, oh, and not making jokes about PMS (whatever!).

It occurs to me that the way to get anyone concerned with any issue is to demonstrate to them the impact that it directly has on their life. Now, certainly injustices done to a woman in his life would make many feminist boyfriends care deeply about feminist causes. But, I would argue that this is going to elicit a very particular, personal, and only partially useful response - the desire to protect his partner. Now, I think that everyone in life can use a cheering section but a protection response sort of buys into a whole ‘nother set of gender stereotypes, those surrounding masculinity.

But guess what? The word “masculinity” only came up once in 75 comments. So, here is where I think that the Feministe discussion falls flat - it assumes that men need to respond to feminism and support it in some intrinsically male way. Well fuck that, in my book a feminist boyfriend is one that recognizes the gender wankery all around us and understands what it is doing to both of us. He sees that masculinity (as an institution) is just as insidious as femininity and that they depend on each other to survive. My feminist boyfriend knows that sexual violence against men isn’t an anomaly and bravely shares his experiences with it to give other men the courage. My feminist boyfriend cross dresses if he feels like it. Has a beard if he feels like it. Lets me fuck him in the ass if he feels like it. My feminist boyfriend sees the things he is coded by society to be and makes his own fucking decisions about that - just like his feminist girlfriend.

[via BeingAmberRhea]

Thanks to Slydder for helping me get this one back ;)

::Timid wave::

It has been awhile, perhaps some of you thought that I just decided to never come back from Thailand. Well, I did. And school has been intense. But, you know a few things are true when I show up after a long hiatus.

1. The emails asking me when I’m coming back have started to actually make me feel guilty.
2. I have something clever to say.
3. I am procrastinating on school work.

I was having a conversation with a friend (male) about the way he responds to requests for cock shots from all of the ladies that are jocking him. (I’m not entirely convinced that this actually happens, but I decided to play along to preserve his ego.) Anywhooo, he sends me a picture of himself with a suction based pink jelly dildo thwacked onto his forehead. Totally classy, right? (Did, I mention that I would totally do him if he wasn’t such a sadist that I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week afterwards?)

This got me thinking about unsolicited cock shots. In the adult dating world they seem to be like a business card. “Oh hello, nice to meet you, I’m a professional dog groomer and I like snowboarding. I hope we can get together and have some fun. Attached you will find a picture of my penis! Cheers, Tom” (This was an actual Myspace message that I got from THE Tom, by the way.)

Honestly, I’m always left scratching my head on these. What do I do with this penis photograph? How do I evaluate it? Well, after careful research, testing and 2 focus groups I have developed:

Ellie’s No-Muss No-Fuss Grading Rubric for Cock Shots

Step One: Did the sender give you a picture of their cock?
If No: Proceed to step two.
If Yes: Fail. Delete the email and bleach your retinas.

Simple, huh?

So, in general most of us ladies aren’t big fans of pedophiles. I feel pretty confident speaking for my gender on that one. As such, we aren’t interested in romantic partners that are pedophiles. However, I assume that when guys are talking to me, since I’m not a young girl, they aren’t pedophiles. I know that isn’t perfect logic but there are a lot of other brands of creepy that I concern myself with before worrying about a potential mate being a pedophile.

This is why I was amused, nay, concerned when I was chatting with a dude that went out of his way to tell me on 3 separate occasions that he isn’t a pedophile. It would go like this:

Ellie: Some totally normal, mundane crap that I say to people. Not regarding pedophiles.
Guy: not a pedo here, trust me.
Ellie: Um, okay good.
Guy: i was just feeling u out. there are a lot of police knowadays looking for pedophiles and the life, and trust me, i’m not one, however, i guess i’m more or less looking for a relationship with a person my age
Ellie: Right. More crap that I say.
Blah
Blah
Blah
Guy: for pedophiles and the like…………………………………………
Ellie: WTF?

Then I blocked him. I think a preoccupation with pedophiles is enough to deter me.